Can You Fancy Your Best Friend?
by bookishgirl
Summary: Daughter asking mum, Hermione, if its possible to fancy your best friend. Part of my little Emma series. I guess its fluffy and goofy. Enjoy!


A.N. - So it's been awhile since I've done any fanfiction. lol. So I hope it's decent. This is part of my little Emma series. I cant really think of where to go after this one. Got any ideas? Just hit me up on a nice little handy...**_review_**! Yeah you heard me a **review**! Please  


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"Hey, Mum?" A short dark curly haired girl asked.

"Yes, dear?" Hermione Granger – Weasley asked her daughter, looking up from her desk.

"Can I ask you about something?"

Hermione pushed her books and parchments to the side of her desk and took off her reading glasses.

"Yes, Emma, come in and sit." Hermione said. Emma walked slowly, hesitantly into her mother's study. "So what did you want to ask?"

Emma sat down slowly in her mother's round comfortable 'reading chair' by the fireplace, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"I wanted to ask you...." Emma trailed off, not looking at her mother, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I...I wanted to know if it's possible to love? No!" Throwing her hands in the air. "Fancy your best friend?" Emma asked in one breath. She still didn't look at her mother, biting her nails.

Hermione hesitated, drawing in a breath.

"Of course, dear." Hermione told, grinning at her youngest child. "What do you think your father and I were?" Hermione chuckled quietly.

Emma looked up at her mother, bright blue meeting chocolate brown, and grinned at her.

"He was your best friend? Along with Uncle Harry?" She asked.

"Yes he was. And becoming more than friends after a great friendship can be great. Since you know each other so well and it's so much easier when you're hanging out together." Hermione explained. "You don't have that serious awkward 'what do we talk about?' act with each other." Emma nodded slowly, still not sure if it were possible.

"But....I don't want to ruin the friendship. What if...what if he doesn't fancy me back?" Emma asked slightly hysterical, picking at her fingernails, and watching the fire.

Hermione drew in a breath. "If Danny doesn't fancy you back, I think he'd still want to be your friend. You just have to take a chance and tell him."

Emma's head snapped up to look at her mother with a Weasley blush evident all over her face. "Wh-who said I fan-fancied Danny?" She stuttered.

Hermione nearly laughed. "A mother always knows. And also it's very obvious."

Emma groaned resting her head in her hands. "Ugh! I didn't think it was obvious."

"It's okay, dear. Mainly only the women know, men are just so oblivious!"

"So....what am I going to do?" Emma groaned, face still in her hands, elbows resting on her knees.

"I don't know, dear." Hermione sighed. Nervous at her daughter's reaction. Rose and even Hugo weren't nearly as this hysterical as Emma was acting. "It's your decision as to weather or not you decide to take that leap of faith and tell him how you feel. To see if he feels the same way or not." Hermione smiled. "And you know Danny. You know that he won't go out of his way to hurt you or laugh in your face if he truly doesn't like you that." Hermione continued, reaching out to gently pull Emma's face from her hands to look her in the eye.

"Yes. I suppose you're right." Emma whispered quietly.

Hermione leaned back in her chair and surveyed her daughter. Emma had always been the quiet, sweet, more overly the obedient child. She knew, truthfully, that'd she'd be surprised if Emma did tell Danny how she felt. Not that she thought her daughter was a coward. But she knew how hard it was for Emma to live up to famous parents and even famous older siblings, especially when Emma was so much younger and shy.

Emma nodded her head, eyes on the fire, whispering to herself. She closed her eyes for minute, still whispering, than suddenly opened them, smiling shyly at her mother.

"Now why don't you get downstairs? We do have a Christmas party going on after all." Hermione reminded loftily. "I'm certain a particular tall, dark-haired, Quidditch player will be down there." Hermione grinned, a bit deviously, and winked at her daughter.

Emma gathered herself, blushing, and stood, crossing to the door and opening it. As she stepped through she suddenly stopped and turned around, leaning on the door for support, she said,

"Oh! Dad wanted me to come up here and tell you to: 'Get her bloody arse from the desk and come downstairs for Christmas!'" Emma imitated her father. "I'm sorry I can't get the rather red face with the rather bright red hair, but I'm certain the voice was almost dead on!" Emma laughed.

Hermione laughed along. "Tell your father I'll be down in a moment. I need to finish this paperwork."

"So in about a half-hour than?" Emma asked, quirking her eyebrow.

"Of course." Hermione responded in a business tone, putting her glasses back on.

"I'll cover for you." Emma promised.

"Thank you, love." Hermione smiled.

"Mum?" Emma asked in complete seriousness.

"Yes?" Hermione asked, looking up from her paper.

"Thank you." Emma said, sheepishly. "For the advice...and all." She shrugged.

"Of course, sweetheart. Anytime. Your welcome."

Emma shrugged one more time, embarrassed (just like her father!) and turned away, closing the door with her.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, throwing her reading glasses on the desk. Looking at the photographs of her children and grandchildren she truly felt old. Sighing and hearing the bustle of laughter, screams, and loud ruckus music/singing she heaved herself from her chair and down the stairs to her family, whispering,

"Screw it! I've got all vacation!"


End file.
